


If Only

by whatsherface



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But Mostly This Is About Feelings, Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Romance, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 22:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16606331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsherface/pseuds/whatsherface
Summary: Cassandra's mission to rebuild the Seekers takes her all over Thedas, but her heart remains at Skyhold.At night, in her tent in the wilds, she thinks about her Inquisitor.





	If Only

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy some fluffy almost smut, whilst I hack away at Trespasser!
> 
> One could slot this before [Chapter 26](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545578/chapters/35698287) of Clean Burn, if one was so inclined...

Cassandra shut the book and shoved it under the corner of her bedroll, blowing the spent candle out of its misery. With so little light, squinting at the page was giving her a headache. She could fetch a fresh candle from her pack, but doing so would mean leaving this hard-won huddle of warmth. She rubbed the tip of her nose. So cold. 

And yet... If only she could have finished that chapter. The seafaring hero--that is to say, pirate--had just reunited passionately with his love, only to be captured shortly thereafter in a ship boarding gone wrong, leaving his ultimate fate in question. Not the type to sit idly by, his lover was about to take matters into her own hands. 

It was not the most inventive plot, certainly, but serviceable nonetheless. The selection had been thin at the book stalls the last time she passed through Val Royeaux. Hardly anything she hadn't already read. 

She fixed her blanket around her shoulders and sighed. They were camped at the edge of the Dales, among the woods that peppered the foothills of the Frostbacks. Less than a day's ride from Skyhold, but they thought it best to stop for the night and save the mountain path for the light of day. Seeker Emery was already asleep, snoring on the other side of the tent. Jasper was outside on first watch, sitting beside the fire, which cast a faint glow on the canvas. 

How long had she been away? Two months, at least. So much of her life had been spent moving from place to place that home was a slippery concept. It had been ages since she was in Nevarra, and other than Vestalus and that thread of familial duty, there was nothing for her there. Skyhold was as near to home as anywhere else. Moreso because he was there. 

She missed him. 

His letters always reached her when she was on the road--bless Leliana's ravens--though not always in a timely fashion. Sometimes nothing for weeks, sometimes three at once. But each and every one was a treasure, a reminder of his love and a window on his thoughts, even from hundreds of miles away. She kept them tied in a bundle in her pack, to be read and reread on cold nights and grey mornings. She could find them now, if it wasn't so dark. If it wasn't so cold beyond the borders of her blanket. 

So she didn't. Instead, she curled on her side and tucked her hand beneath the spare tunic that served as her pillow. She let her thoughts wander. 

What would he look like dressed in a ruffled shirt and sea coat with a cutlass in his belt, as she imagined the hero of her novel? Wind-blown hair and a rakish smile--very dashing, yes.

_No._

She was not so silly as that. Nor was she a sheltered merchant's daughter who would run away from an arranged marriage to follow her love to the sea. She did not have a cascade of long hair or a wardrobe of expensive dresses. She did not charm her way out of trouble or threaten men with the knife in her boot. 

She was none of those things. (Except, perhaps, the part about the knife.) No, she was only herself. Cassandra, Seeker of Truth. Beloved of the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, though he hated those titles. 

What was he doing now? 

Her mind went where her body could not, flying over the miles of rock and forest between her and him, up to the towers of the keep itself. 

It was late, but not too late for him. He was rattling around his room, most likely. Sitting with a drink by the fire or writing her a letter at his desk. Or out on the balcony, perhaps, on a clear night like this. Ready for bed, shirtless, despite the cold. 

She would find him there, leaning his elbows on the railing, looking out over the mountains as he so often did. Light spilling from the windows would sketch him in shadows, gold and blue, the curves and lines of his back a topology in muscle and bone. So much beauty; he had no idea. 

He’d hear her coming, even barefoot, but he wouldn’t turn. No, he’d wait. Wait until she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed the dip between his shoulders. The tension would melt out of them, drifting away on the breath that would sigh from his lungs. 

She wouldn’t be able to see his smile, but she’d know it was there when he took one of her hands and lifted it to his lips. And then it would be her turn to sigh, pressing her cheek to his skin. He’d be so warm, like always. 

When he finally turned to face her, he’d catch her mouth with a kiss, soft and slow. Hands on her hips now, dragging her closer, into his orbit like gravity, like love, irresistible, invisible force. His forehead on hers, eyes liquid smoke, dangerous and dark with an elusive shimmer from the lights inside. No choice but to surrender and let it carry her away, though the truth was, she had given herself over long ago. 

These were not her fingers tracing the column of her throat, mapping the arc of her collarbone--no, they were his. No, not fingers at all, but lips and tongue and teeth, plus the scrape of his unshaven jaw. 

_Take, take, take._ She would push him back against the rail, press her body to his, bite his lip between her teeth. Not gentle now, no. His hand in her hair, his tongue deep. The kiss a question no longer, but a demand. She would hum with approval. _Yes._

She made a sound like a whine in her throat, and in the same moment, she realized she had done it out loud. A loud snap broke the silent night, and she froze. Just Jasper, cutting another branch for the fire. And yet, had he heard? Did he guess where she was in her mind’s eye? Suspect the heat that flushed her from within, all memory of cold forgotten? 

She was certain he did. Certain he could hear, even now, the pounding of her heart against her ribs. Certain it was audible to anyone in a five-mile radius. 

But that was impossible. It was nothing remarkable, the kind of sound anyone might make in their sleep. Still, she waited, barely breathing, listening for some sign, anything out of place. There was nothing more than a cough outside the tent and quiet snoring from the other bedroll within. 

She was tired. Tired of being the Lady Seeker, tired of being hard and sharp and strong. She wanted, just for a moment, to be more than those things, to be Cassandra and soft and his. That was what she wanted, and there on that balcony, he seemed to know, as surely as if she had told him. And perhaps she had. 

That was the thing about Owain. Anywhere she went, he had the audacity to go, too. Not only to follow, but to _match,_ to meet her there, to push her on. She was never less, with him. No, always more. 

And Maker, did she want _more._

He would smirk as he spun her, put her hands on the stone and focused his attention on her pleasure. His mouth at the join of her neck and shoulder would set her heart to racing, course lightning down her spine. His voice would be a rasp in her ear. “Do you like this, love? Shall I stop?”

 _No, no, no. Don’t stop, never stop._

These were not her hands lifting the edge of her tunic; they were his. Smoothing their way up, raising goosebumps in their wake, caressing, kneading, teasing. These were not her fingers loosening her breeches, working their way inside--no, they were his. 

And then-- No, not fingers at all. 

_More, more, more. Please. Don’t stop, never stop. Never--_

Stop.

Another snap from outside, louder this time, and her heart leapt into her throat. Then a rustle from inside the tent, as Emery rolled to face her. The blink of her eyes told Cassandra she was awake, if only momentarily. 

It was one interruption too many, and she knew a losing battle when she saw one. She squeezed her legs together in frustration, but it was not enough. Not nearly. 

She sighed in defeat and turned away, rearranging her clothing beneath the blanket, willing her pulse to slow to a normal rate, waiting for the air to chill the want still smoldering at her core. 

_Goodnight, my love._

Reluctantly, she left him there on that balcony and pulled her mind back to this tent in the woods. She searched instead for sleep, chasing it down and bidding it pull her under. That kind of rest, at least, could be hers tonight. 

But tomorrow? 

Tomorrow could not come fast enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked me for a 300-word fantasy, and what can I say, it got away from me. Sometimes stories have a will of their own. ;)
> 
> If you, too, want to chat: [whatsherfacewrites.tumblr.com](https://whatsherfacewrites.tumblr.com)


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